Reuniting in The Rain
by justxbrookie
Summary: Many miles kept them apart, but now its time for them to reunite. Better summary will be inside, please read and rate!
1. chapter one: the owl

Summary - Thirteen-year-old Tristan Kimball is in for a surprise one night to find an owl at her window. But what's more surprising is the series of events that follow! Her world is turned completely around and upside-down when she discovers that she's a witch and the long-lost twin to the (apparently) famous Harry Potter. She travels from the home of her adoptive parents to England to discover the full extent of her power, and more than that, where she belongs.

Please don't judge harshly, its way better than it sounds; I'm not a complete noob! I'm just imaginative.(;

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**Reuniting in The Rain - Chapter One: The Owl  
**

I've never liked owls. Never ever have I liked them. They're too strange for my taste. The way their heads can turn all the way around to see behind them, the way they only come out at night. They even looked creepy to me, with those big eyes. So when I found one pecking at my window at 2:30 in the morning, I did the most logical thing a person who was scared of owls would do.

I screamed. I screamed loud. As loudly as I could, so that I would hopefully wake up my mom or dad. Then they could come in and get rid of the monstrosity making all that racket outside my room. I want to duck under my covers, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of it for a moment. I seemed to be staring at me, its eyes filled with almost looked like exasperation at my fearful screaming. As if that bird thinks it's more mature than me. _'That's silly though,' _I think, rolling my eyes at such a crazy thought. _'It's a bird, no way is it more mature than me. OR is able to think so.' _I heard someone running to my aid, but as it turned out, it was no one that could really help me. Only my seven-year-old twin brothers, Orion and Keith, and my ten-year-old sister, Penelope, showed up. "Oh, cool!" the boys exclaimed at the same time, running toward the window.

"No, you dorks!" Penny and I exclaimed at the same time, but they didn't listen. The bird wasn't spooked by the sudden approach of the overexcited boys; in fact it looked glad that someone was finally paying it some attention other than frantic screams. They pressed their faces to the glass, making funny faces and licking the window. I turn to look at Penny – not before rolling my eyes at the gross brothers of time – and ask her to go wake up mom and dad for me, to which she obliges obediently. I then turned my gaze directly to my brothers, who were still making faces at the bird. Sighing, I pushed myself off of the bed and walked over to them. "Kids, let's stop taunting the creepy bird." I couldn't bear to look at the owl that wouldn't seem to disappear. I know, a fourteen-year-old shouldn't act this immature about an animal. But Tristan Mckenzie Kimball was a scaredy cat. There, I said it, I was afraid. I'm afraid of many things; the dark, open spaces, the unknown, snakes, spiders, mice, all types of birds. I just never admitted these things to anyone but myself, and even I can't accept it.

I placed one hand on Orion's shoulder and the other on Keith's, trying to pull them away from my window. I didn't even want to think about the prints and slobber that I was going to have to scrub off in the morning made me want to cringe.

"I think the owl is holding something," Orion said, his adorable, pre-pubescent voice making it sound even more unbelievable than the statement itself. I chuckled and said, "Oh, the imaginative Orion strikes again!" I tried to pull them back with a bit more force, and while Keith moved away, Orion shrugged my shoulder away and pulled the window open. "What are you thinking? You'll let it in!" And the bird did, indeed, fly in. It landed on my dresser, hooting with relief. Wait, _relief_? The thing was just a bird, hooting. At this point, my mother and father entered the room, looking very drowsy and very irritated.

"What is it, Tristan Mckenzie?" Mom asked, her voice thick from having been woken from a deep sleep. I pointed at the owl, sheepishly. Instead of looking annoyed or bemused by their daughter's fear of a simple bird, a look of fear shot through their eyes but was then quickly replaced with resolve. They looked at each other and Dad nodded solemnly. There seemed to be something heavier going on than I had expected, and it was confusing me even more with every second that went by. "Mom? Dad?" I ventured cautiously, "What's wrong? It's just an owl."

"Not exactly, honey," Mom said without meeting my eye. Then she added, "I hope this day wouldn't come. I thought we'd been in the clear, but.."

"Shh, dear, collect yourself," my father murmured to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder, seeming to be holding back tears. Penny finally stepped out from behind her mother, to get a better look at what was happening. "Mom?" Penny sounded slightly frantic when she spoke; she had always been a bit on the dramatic side.

Our mother sniffled then steadied her gaze with mine. "Tristan, it's time that we had a little talk with you." I felt my face contort into a confused expression when a loud, aggravated hoot was emitted from the owl still sitting on my dresser. I was startled, but all my mother did was roll her eyes and took a little scrap of paper from a pouch tied to the owl's leg. The owl fluffed its feathers when Mom took the paper out of the pouch – I think it even shot me a glare as well – and promptly flew away.

"What do you mean by, a talk?" I asked, growing more and more nervous. What was going on? Was this all a dream? My father drew in a long breath; like he was trying to gain strength to say something he has had to say for some time now but hasn't wanted to.

"A talk about your true origin, Tristan."

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Please review, the criticism is what I crave! (:  
-love, brooke


	2. chapter two: discoveries & dreaming

**Hey, yay for second chapter! (:**  
**I'd like to thank everyone that's been reading, and I hope you stay tuned for more! Please, recommend it to your friends, if ya could. I'd appreciate it very much. (:**

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**Reuniting in The Rain - Chapter Two: Making Discoveries and Dreaming of Meanies**

"What do you mean my _true_ origin?" I exclaimed after a prolonged staring contest with my parents, while I waited for them to say 'just kidding'. They didn't. They only returned my gaze, but theirs was full of sadness and resignation. It only made me angrier when they wouldn't tell me anything about what they meant. It didn't make any sense at all, these were my parents! Had Mom cheated on Dad? That doesn't explain why an owl would cause all of this, unless that was just one freaky guy when it came to communicating.

Mom heaved a sigh, looking more tired than she had when she first entered the room. "Well, honey. It's pretty complicated to explain." She raised a hand to her forehead, rubbing it in thought. "I'm not even sure where to start at."

"The beginning would be nice, actually," I said, an edge in my voice. My temper was rising, and my head was pounding. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't get any answers really soon. But all my mother did was sigh again, and put her hands on her hips. She looked at her other children, who were still in the room and staring at her with more eagerness in their eyes than ever. They were thirsting for the secret that I didn't even know about myself. _'Nosy little brats,'_ I think, the voice in my head snarling.

Penny's eyes seemed to be shining with curiosity as she stepped toward Mom with a wide smile on her face that was more creepy than encouraging. "Come on, Ma. Say it!" she exclaimed, her hands clasped together in front of her face, as if begging. From the corner of my eye, I saw Orion and Keith nod enthusiastically too. I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, then settle them on my father, who is shaking his head. "No. You children have to leave, this is business for Tristan, your mother, and I. So scoot back to bed."

They groaned with disappointment, and Orion shouted, "But, Dad-!"

"Orion Jackson!" Mom scolded, severely, "I'm sure you wouldn't want private business of your own – especially business of this nature – to be told to you for the first time with prying ears present. Bed, all three of you!" Mom wasn't usually the screaming, admonishing type, so this only proved to me that this was some serious business. Of course, when infidelity is in the mix.

That's the only thing that makes any sense now; it's the only rational conclusion. Someone had been unfaithful and that's how I came to be. Of course, with my random red hair and deep green eyes when all of my family was brunette with almond, chocolaty browns; there's no why I fit in with them. It was written off that I was a spitting image of my mom's grandmother, and there was nothing to disprove this since she died before I knew her and I've never seen a picture of her in my life.

Penny and the twins filed out of the room, heads hung low in sorrow for the juicy gossip that they wouldn't get to hear. I wished I could follow them out of the room, but there was no chance of that happening. So I walked over to my bed and plop down and Mom closes the door behind Keith. Then I look at my parents, who are still beside themselves, and venture bluntly, "So, whose illegitimate child am I? Yours, or yours?" I point from Mom to Dad as I say this. Mom looks shocked, and Dad still looks resigned, as he had the whole time. He looked at me with more love and grief than I'd ever seen, and it unnerved me. It was as if revealing this secret meant that he had to let me go.

"That is such an offensive thing to suggest-"

"No, Rosemary. I can see where she'd get that impression." Dad gave his wife a light pat on the shoulder then he looked at me, slightly amused now. "You're not the illegitimate child of anyone here. The truth is that you aren't really our child. We had taken you in when you were a little baby, and adopted you as our own."

I sat there trying to absorb what I had just been told. I shake my head, unable to comprehend it. I was adopted? _What?_ "N-no, this is-"

"It's true," Mom said, her voice breaking, obviously the result of holding back tears. I looked into her dark brown eyes to see them glistening with tears in the moonlight. She had a sad, forced smile planted on her face. The smile was for me, trying to tell me that everything was okay, but it apparently wasn't. I could see clearly that she was upset and scared. But of what?

Was that owl a message from my real parents, who were coming to take me away?

No, I don't want to be taken away! Even if those were my birth parents, they can't just step in and demand me back after close to fourteen years of completely ignoring my existence; it just didn't work that way. A parent is someone who takes care of their child, regardless of if they gave birth to the kid or not. A parent educates their child, is there for him or her whenever they need them. And my biological parents definitely didn't fit that description.

"So...is that who sent the owl? My mom and/or dad?" I asked after clearing my throat.

My mom closed her eyes, and sighed again (she was sure full of sighs tonight). Then she shook her head, slowly and solemnly. I became very still, feeling the tension in the room intensify. I knew what my dad was going to say before he said it.

"They...have passed, darling. When you were still a baby." He looked away, at the floor, and frowned. "You were an orphan when you came to us."

"Came to you?" I was a doorstep baby?

My mom nodded, still struggling to hold her tears back and failing more miserably than I've ever seen. She sniffled, and gasped. "Yes, darling. You were right on our doorstep, wrapped up in a little pink blanket. You looked so peaceful and angelic; I almost thought it was a dream..." She trailed off, then just let go with her sobs. She leaned on her husband's shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her and rested his head on the top of hers. I felt my own eyes tear up, but I didn't cry, even though I had every reason to. In just a few moments, everything that I knew as the truth had become a lie. The two people who I'd thought to be my parents were not actually the ones who brought me into this world, and whoever had had died before I could even know who they were. And it all somehow revolved around an insignificant hoot owl! That damn thing brought all of this on! But an animal can't be blamed for revealing the truth, it'd still be there regardless of its appearance or not.

"So what's on that piece of paper you took from the owl? Who sent it?" This was the part that was the most maddening to me. If it wasn't my real mom or dad, then who else would it be? Who else _could_ it be? There is absolutely no one I know of that would send me something by an owl, or by any other type of bird.

"Well, that is a more difficult issue for another day. It's too late tonight, sweetheart," Mom said as I tried to protest. I want to figure this all out now. I hate cliffhangers, and I hate being left in the dark. I pouted at my dad as he stood from my bed and stretched. He noticed me looking at him, and laughed. "Tomorrow, we will take about this."

"As soon as I wake up?"

He laughed again. "Yes, dear. As soon as you wake up."

I narrow my eyes at him, but he only leans in and kisses my forehead. "Goodnight, Tristan." Something in my heart twitched and I was overwhelmed with so much emotion. Too much for one night. Mom leans over and gives me a long hug, sniffling and gasping in my ear. Eventually, they both left and I was alone again. The silence in the room was deafening. All I wanted to do was scream and cry, but I couldn't find it in me to. All I could do was curl up into a ball under the covers of my bed and silently go back to sleep.

_"Hey, give that back!" Tristan's little six-year-old voice yelled. She was in her old grade school, Oak Hill Elementary, and was currently in Mrs. Brammar's first grade class. Mrs. Brammar had been her favorite teacher; she was nice, young, and pretty, and always gave Tristan cherry suckers when she would get an A+ on her spelling test._

Today was Friday, which was everyone's favorite day. Besides being the last day before the weekend, it was also finger paint day. Everyone was at their tables, little containers of paint at the center to share. Tristan, like all of the other students, was excitedly working on her masterpiece, hoping that Mrs. Brammar would love it above everyone else. Her painting was of herself and Mrs. Brammar, and Tristan thought it was her best picture yet. Her smile grew wider and wider and her fingers moved faster and faster across the paper. But while Tristan was coloring in Mrs. Brammar's dress, Peter Philips – the typical class meanie – ran up and took Tristan's painting right out from under her hands. The abrupt movement of the paper made her smear red paint all over her picture.

When Tristan demanded that he give her picture back to her, all he did was laugh and run away with it, of course making Tristan follow after him. "What is this, freak?" he yelled over his shoulder, holding the picture out in front of him. "Have a crush on Mrs. Brammar?"

Even as she still runs after the mean boy, she looks visibly confused and hesitated. "Mrs. Brammar is a girl, weirdo!"

"Yeah, and you have a boy name. Maybe you are a boy!" he yelled, and two of his lackeys – Kevin George and Lindsay Hendersy – stood up, as if on cue, and taunted 'TRISTAN IS A BO-OY!' over and over until one by one everyone joined in. Tristan had stopped running when the chanting started, and now she stood in front of the whole class, looking from table to table. Some of the kids she'd even considered her friends were calling her a boy.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she couldn't think of what to say, so her jaw hung open slightly, bottom lip quivering. "Aw, the baby's going to cry. Boys aren't supposed to cry, wimp!" she heard Peter yell from the back of the classroom. Then something in Tristan broke when she saw Peter stuffing her wonderful painting – her beautiful masterpiece – down the paper shredder. The look in his beady little eyes, and the evil grin on his pudgy, freckled face made her feel more anger than she had ever felt in her life.

The laughs from the children then became background noise, and all she could see was mean old Peter, looking more self-satisfied than ever. She narrowed her eyes and grinded her teeth – she may have even growled a bit – and then the smirk from Peter's face dropped completely. The look of fear in his eyes pleased her, and she shouted, "I'M NOT A BOY!"

Tristan had never felt more in control and powerful than she did at that moment. She felt it radiate off of her skin like heat, and she believed that she could crush the world with one movement of her hands. It wasn't a completely good feeling either, it felt dark and evil. Heart pounding rapidly in her chest, her own ferocity scared her; she wasn't normally a violent girl. Tristan wanted to escape, but she couldn't seem to find her way out of the storm she had created around herself. A crash on the other side of the room brought Tristan back to the real world, startled and panting. The crash had been from a window breaking. From the looks of the situation, someone had thrown a chair.

She hadn't moved and no one else had either. Even Mrs. Brammar was glued to her spot in the doorway, having finally come back from making copies of worksheets they'd be doing for the next few weeks. All the papers were scattered on the floor now, and her arms were down by her sides, jaw dropped. Everyone else had the same look of shock and fear in their eyes as well. When she turned her gaze from one table to the other, other classmates would coware in fear.

Then Tristan made the shocking connection: She'd been the one who threw the chair.  


I opened my eyes to see light flooding into my bedroom. The light had the same bright and cheerful sense as it had on that strange day back in the first grade. Eventually, Mrs. Brammar had forced herself to act like an authority figure and do something. She grabbed my arm, rather roughly to be honest, and began to pull me out of the classroom. She'd told Peter to come along as well, since he'd been out of his seat while she was gone. I'd started to cry as she lead me to Principal Florence's office, but Peter had been well used to it by now.

I'd pleaded with the principal that I didn't throw a chair, and all I did was yell at Peter and chase him because he took my picture. Then Brammar told Florence that she needed to speak with him privately, having seen the second half of the episode. She shot me weird, fearful glances as Peter and I walked out, like she thought I was going to do something completely insane.

When Peter and I had gotten out to the main office, he sat down in the chair farthest away from the Principal's room and I took the seat one down from him. Then he'd whispered, "I don't want you to take any of my hair to make a voodoo doll of me, you freak!"

I scoffed, "If I wanted to make a voodoo doll of you and if I even knew how, believe me, I already would have." He sneered at me and moved down the row of seats to the one closest to the Principal's office, but farthest from me.

I still to this day don't believe I threw that chair, simply because I didn't move from where I stood and I wouldn't be strong enough to throw such a heavy chair into a window successfully. I said that to Florence, and he said that I didn't do it with him hand. At the time, I'd thought _'How else could I throw something, with my feet?' _but now I understand what they really meant. I'd made the chair move with my brain, is what they'd been trying to convey. The least likely possibility of them all was the one they decided to believe in.

They'd called my parents into school for a conference, had me see a counselor for the rest of the school year, and gave me detention for destruction of school property. The only thing my parents would ever mention about the incident was that they were upset that they had to pay for a new window (the chair was so heavy duty that it was a'okay once they brought it back inside), but would otherwise act as if nothing had happened. I ask them from time to time what the principal and Brammar had talked to them about, and all they say is that "It was all taken care of." A very mysterious answer for a simple question.

I thought about asking them one more time today if they'd tell me, but then I remembered the events of last night. I was adopted and orphaned, and the mystery behind the owl will be revealed as soon as I wake up. I hopped up from bed and put on my clothes as quickly as I could. A pink polo shirt over dark denim shorts, my red hair still in a bed head mess. I zoomed down the hallway, avoiding the occasional toy strung out along the way. When I made it into the kitchen, I saw Mom standing by the sink and Dad sitting at the counter. When they heard my less than graceful entry, they turned and smiled. "I wondered when you were going to wake up," Dad said, patting the stool next to him. I hopped up onto it and banged my fist on the counter.

"So, let's get down to business," I announce in a no-games tone. Mom and Dad laugh at my seriousness, only to my irritation. This was no laughing matter!

Dad noticed my scowl first, or was the first to point it out. "Okay, okay. Let's go into the den." The den was a seldom used room, for the sheer fact that everything in there was expensive. There were shelves and shelves of books on topics that I wasn't even sure of. There were two dark leather couches facing each other across a glass coffee table. At the corner of the room was my favorite chair – a large, cozy leather armchair of a slightly lighter color than the couches; I come in here to read books of my own when no one is home, and that is my favorite spot to go to. But I knew that today, I would be seated on a couch, across from my adoptive parents. Me and Mom sat down, but Dad went to light a fire in the fireplace behind me. It burned and crackled instantly, and I felt the heat on the back of my neck. With the heavy curtains closed and the only light in the room coming from the fireplace, the room felt cozy and warm. I could easily fall asleep in these conditions. But there was no time to think of that.

"So who sent the owl?" I asked, breaking the silence first. There was more silence that followed, but I knew I'd be getting an answer this time. The pause was strenuous, but eventually Mom opened her mouth to speak. She didn't immediately, but I saw her reaching into the pocket of her khakis and pulling out the scrap of paper the owl had delivered. She held it out to me, and I was hesitant to take. Then she smiled and instructed me to open it and read it – slowly if I had to.

The paper felt funny on my hand, not like normal paper I used for school work. It seemed like more official paper, not the type that one would just rip up to use as a scratch paper. The words on the paper were even funnier than that. There were only two words, but the ink they were written in looked different than any pen I'd ever seen anyone use, and it was a rich green. The same color as my eyes. But the strangest thing about the note was the words themselves. Was it a _name_? I'm not even sure if I could pronounce it. I looked up at my parents, to see them watching me. They didn't look as if they were about to shout "April Fools'" as I was expecting. This was just too absurd to be real. Dad nodded at the paper, encouragingly.

My pronunciation was very unsure. "Albus...D-dumbledore?"

I heard a subtle sound resound in the room. It was as if the air was being sucked up into the fire, and then, a large poof. From behind me, I heard a foreign voice speak, but it commanded much respect and poise.

"It seems that we've finally found you, Miss Potter."

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Sorry for the cliffhanger, I'll try to stop doing that!  
Please review, it'll help me write this shit better! (;

-love, brooke


	3. chapter three: magical

**Hey, thanks to everyone that's been reading !  
Recommend it to all of your friends AND enemies (;  
The next chapter should be up tomorrow or Tuesday, depending on how fast I write the next chapter. That's how fast chapters should be popping up too, every day or every other day.**

**

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Reuniting in The Rain - Chapter Three: Magical  
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The man's voice sounded ancient, but still lively; he should have a decent amount of years ahead of him. His tone was knowing and pleased, as if he's been on a long search and has finally found what he's been looking for. Apparently he had been though. I was so scared to turn around. _'How did he get in here?' _my mind screamed over and over, panicked and frightened. The man sensed this.

"No need to be alarmed, I'm not dangerous to you in the slightest." I realized that his accent was very British as I turned – for an Ohio girl like myself, that was exotic. I did the best I could to prevent my eyes from bulging when I first saw him. He was the oldest man I've ever seen that can still string coherent sentences together and move around without a walker or a wheelchair. He was tall with long silvery hair and a beard that matched. His face was friendly, and his eyes were twinkling; he was definitely full of life, even if he looked like he had one foot in the grave and the other on an oil-slicked floor.

Then I examined his attire, which was definitely...unique, to say the least. It was a silvery blue, and looked like medieval clothes. Clothes only befitting of a really old guy who doesn't use modern, more conventional forms of communication. He must have seen me eying his outfit choice, because he started to laugh. "Where I'm from, this type of wardrobe is normal."

I nodded as if I understand, but the only thought that runs through my head is more older-looking people wearing different colored costumes such as this, living in stone houses, and not even knowing that they were stuck in the past according to the rest of the world. The Dumbledore man read my facial features carefully then started to walk slowly around the couch, speaking as he went.

"There's no need to be wary, Miss Potter. Or, Miss Kimball, whichever you prefer to be called. I know this must be a very confusing situation for you." He paused, looking at me over the rim of his glasses before continuing on. "But I'm sure your lovely parents have explained some of this to you, correct?"

I nodded dumbly, then cleared my throat and replied. "Yes, they have. They've told me that they'd adopted me. And that my birth parents are dead." He nodded as I spoke, looking at me very deeply; this was nerve-wracking! "But..."

The silence seemed to stretch for eons when I trailed off. Mom opened her mouth to speak, but the Dumbledore man spoke before her. "But what, child?"

At that moment, I felt so small and so young, as if I _were_ still a child. "But I'm not sure what this has to do with you," I looked to my mom and dad, who were sitting close together, then to the old man in the costume who was standing by their couch's armrest. When no one spoke, I added, "I mean, are you my grandfather? Have you come to take me away with you? Is that even legal?"

With all the tension in the room, it came as a surprise when Dumbledore laughed. Mom and Dad laughed too, only more nervously than the old timer. As soon as his laughs faded away, theirs stopped abruptly, causing me to have to hold back laughter of my own. I caught Dumbledore's eye and he ever so slightly winked.

"No, that wouldn't be legal, because I am not your grandfather. I'm not related to you in any way. I've come here on behalf of your parents – your deceased ones – in order to tell you the truth of where you came from."

I sighed, exasperated. "What is that even supposed to mean?" I moaned, over all of this melodrama. "Were they in a cult that they want me to join? Were they a part of some circus that they want me to be a part of too? 'Cause I'm not joining a cult, and circuses scare me." Mom rolled her eyes at me and shook her head. She hated when I acted up in front of strangers; she was always worried about appearances while I wasn't. People should see you for who you are, not how well you can act, and then decide if they want to give you the time of day or not. The people who still stuck with you in the end were the ones worth keeping. And Dumbledore seemed to be one for the keeping, because he smiled at me and applauded me for my honesty.

"You're a very vocal girl when you know what you want. Very commendable, very commendable indeed. But no, they were involved with neither of those activities. You should be proud to know that they were fighting for a noble cause in our world. So valuable that the enemy decided that they must be disposed of."

"And they were, obviously." I hated being so blunt about my parent's death – now that wasn't commendable behavior at all – but I wanted to get to the point of this, ASAP. I cleared my throat then said, "So what was this cause? Who is the enemy that we're speaking of?"

This time, Dumbledore shook his head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We must tell you of your origin first, Miss Kimball."

I nodded obediently, scolding myself for being so mouthy. It happens when I don't pace my thinking, which I need to learn how to do more. Not doing that is how you get in trouble. I've mouthed off to plenty of teachers in my day; some have been cool with it, others have given me warning after warning. I've only had two detentions in my days at school, and those were for bizarre things I didn't even do (ex. the chair through the window incident). But I always knew when to quit and be quiet – it was just after the REAL point when I should just quit and be quiet. I was broken from my reverie when Dumbledore began to speak.

"Miss Kimball-"

"Oh, sorry for interrupting you, but you can just call me Tristan if you want. If that makes it any easier," I intervened, self-consciously. He just smiled and replied, "If you wish for me to call you Tristan, then it will be so." I marveled at how he speaks. _'Everything he says sounds so darn mystical!'_

"So, Tristan. You and I, we are very much alike." He paused for just a second, to let what he'd said sink in. "Though I am very old and odd to you and you're very young and amusing to me, we are of the same ilk. So are your parents, who have passed on. So is the enemy, which we fought against for so very long. So are many of the people we were defending from that enemy. We are all of the same kind."

I wait for him to say what 'kind' we are, yet he doesn't continue. I hesitate for a few more seconds before I ask, "What 'kind' do you mean?"

"Well, Tristan, have you made anything happen before that you can't explain? Have you caused supposed trouble and mischief when you can swear that you didn't lift a single hand to do so? Have there been times when you become so emotional and then something breaks or flies or disappears entirely?" My eyes widened to the questions. They seemed way too personal for those to just be coincidental questions. He knows something. He had to know something about my past and my incidents before he would ever think to ask such things. The knowing twinkle in his eyes suddenly burned me, yet I couldn't turn away. Sure that my cheeks were the rosiest red they've ever been at one time, I nodded slowly. His smile widened as I confirmed all of his questions, and from the corner of my eye, I saw my mom scoot closer to my dad on the couch, as if looking to him for reassurance on what would happen next. As if she couldn't bear to hear what would come next.

"Well, my child, this is because you have something extraordinary within you. You were born with special abilities that many people don't have, and wish they could obtain as well. If you wanted, you could conjure storms, move the stars, and even turn someone into a toad. You are a witch, Tristan."

All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room when he made this statement. Honestly, I didn't know if I should laugh, be offended, or believe him. I shook my head and then looked at my parents. They looked sad, lost, unsure, and worst of all fearful, like I was going to turn them into toads as soon as I knew I had the ability to do so. I look back at Dumbledore, who still looked buoyant but was in all seriousness now. He meant every word of what he said: I was a witch. I am a witch.

"I'm a witch?" He nodded once. "I'm...magical?" He chuckled at this statement of mine this time, and replied, "Yes, my dear, you are magical. You have the ability to do many, many things with this power. Now, you just have to learn how to control it, master it."

I was still unable to fully grasp the gravity of what he was telling me. "So...you're magical too? You're a wizard?"

"Indeed, I am."

I giggle. "Well, you sure dress the part." Honest, I meant this to be a compliment.

"Tristan!" my mom exclaims. I drop my jaw, but Dumbledore waves it off, laughing.

"No, no; I take that to be flattery." I seriously liked this guy; he was one of the most interesting people I've met – probably the most interesting man of all time. But I've got too many questions to lose track of time now; I don't know how long he's going to stay.

"So, can I see a bit of this mastered magic?" I asked, sounding very hopeful. He didn't reply verbally. His eyes just twinkled at me, then he pulled out a...yes, indeed it was a wand. He pointed the wand at the books on the shelves, and subtly flicked his wrist. Suddenly, the books lift off of their cozy, untouched spots on the shelves and float around in the air. I watch them in awe as they swirl and whirl near the ceiling. It was the craziest thing I've ever witnessed that I knew was really happening. I was beginning to become entranced but the way the books spun, but then I see something fall out of one of the books and tumble into my lap. It's written on the same type of paper as the note with Dumbledore's name on it was, but it seemed way older. It was an envelope with no return address on it, just the name Tristan Mckenzie Potter.

I looked up to ask for an explanation, but I didn't see him anymore. I looked around for him but no one else was in the room now besides Mom, Dad, and I. The books had been placed neatly back into their spots on the shelf as if they'd never been touched, and the fire in the fireplace had died and cooled when it had only been alive with vigor moments before.

The silence in the den after Dumbledore left was awkward and edgy, so I left without saying a word. I gripped the envelope tightly in my hand so that I knew that what had just happened was real. I made my way back to my bedroom where I closed the door and locked it, not wanting to be disturbed. The sunny light pouring through my window seemed strange to me now, after being in the fire lit room for so long. The room felt too illuminated. I sat down on the middle of my messy bed and pulled my comfiest pillow toward me, so that I could hug it to my body tightly. This envelope had to contain a letter from my parents, it just had to. It looked dated and had been opened at least once before, then stored away in a book to be forgotten. My stomach was full of butterflies as I opened the envelope and tipped it upside down. Two piece of paper came out; a normal sized one and another slightly larger scrap like before. I picked up the paper (I KNOW there's a name for this type of paper, I just don't know what it is) that looked most like a letter and unfolded it to find nice, neat cursive that was familiar to her now.

_Hello Sir or Madame,_

_ I know it must be quite baffling to find a child on your doorstep with a letter in hand, but there are very good reasons why she would best be placed in your care. She is now orphaned, her parents having been killed by a madman known as Lord Voldemort. Her twin brother Harry is being taken to their aunt and uncle's residence, but she cannot be taken to the same place for deeper reasons than can be explained here. Please protect her at any expense, and when you feel that the time is right, you may explain to her the tragic event of her mother and father's deaths. When it is safe for her to return to her world, we will call upon her to come back._

_I am able to answer any questions to best of my ability whenever you need me._

_Sincerely Yours,  
Albus Dumbledore_

When I realized that it wasn't my mother or father's note, I was upset, yes. But there's no use mourning over something I can't help. I neatly fold the letter back up, after reading through it one more time, and then I sit and think for a moment.

Out there in the world is my true brother. The one who shared my features, only in guy form. It makes my heart soar to know that someone out there who knows what I am going through. The pain of not knowing our parents, but the pride in knowing that they died for a good cause. What I wanted to know was why we had to be separated. Why couldn't I be with him at old Auntie's? I burned with jealousy for a moment before I remembered the second piece of fancy paper. This scrap was newer than the letter was, so Dumbledore must've snuck it in there today somehow (magically would be my logical guess).

A small note was written in the same neat writing I now know as Dumbledore's.

_Please leave your window opened tonight; the owl didn't seem too pleased with you after its long journey. –A.D._

_

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_**Sorry if the story seems like its dragging, but it spends up soon, I promise ! (:  
Review please, it'll help with the making of this crap :P**

**-love, brooke  
**


	4. chapter four: from ohio to london

**Thanks to everyone who's been reading! (: It really makes me happy to know that people are interested, haha**

**Tristen I am: LOL i'm glad that you're liking it (: and no, in my story, tristan doesn't have a scar. she wasn't there to recieve one, so one isn't there LOL**  
**i'm not sure who tristan will be with yet, so we'll just see what happens when it comes about, keeps ya on your toes (; LOL**

**And to everyone else, I hope you enjoy! Its about to start gettin' gewwwd, haha!(:**

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**Reuniting in The Rain - Chapter Four: From Ohio to London**

When I awoke the next morning, I found an envelope lying on the pillow beside my head. Apparently, another owl came in while I was asleep and the thought of one of those freaky birds being that close to my sleeping head made me shudder. I sat up and stretched my arms over my head, then grabbed the envelope, looking it over carefully. The thing I immediately noticed was that the letter was written by a different hand, which made me wonder how many other people besides Dumbledore now knew where to send their owls and how much more weird mail I'm going to get now.

I turned it over, thinking the wax seal was a nice touch, even though I don't know what the emblem stamped into the wax means or is for. When I opened it, I found that there was more than one piece of paper and I was hoping that this wouldn't require a bunch of reading. But the first letter was rather short and official looking.

_Dear Miss Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1__st__. We await your owl by no later than July 31__st__._

_Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

I raise an eyebrow, utterly confused. Is this how I master my power, with school? Of course, nothing is pain-free; I hate school. And didn't anyone have normal names in... Where was this place located in? Wait...is it in EUROPE? "How in God's name will I get there?" I exclaim to myself, completely baffled. And as if that didn't make the whole thing completely hopeless for a girl like me, the deadline for my 'owl' was July 31st. My birthday.

Which is today.

There's no way that I can catch myself an owl, train it to deliver mail, and get it to this Hogwarts place in a whole other country before the day was over. I was now completely out of hope or options unless I found a way to get Dumbledore here again.

I'm starting to feel like all of this was a big birthday prank by my parents. The only thing that's proving to me that yesterday's meeting with the ancient wizard was real was the letter I held in my hand, and even that was logically impossible. Owls flying to my window at night to deliver mail, and I'm supposed to believe that these birds are coming from England? Mom or Dad could've easily had someone dress up in a funny costume and make him say all of this stuff. They could've wired all the books to fly, perhaps.

What nags me though is the unexplainable things I've made happen. How can I explain those things so that they make sense? They don't even make sense to me. I could just go back to thinking those strange occurrences were just dreams or my imagination, but even I can't do that in good conscious. I know what they were now, and though the explanation was crazy, it was the explanation.

I opened the list of books and supplies for kicks and giggles; it's not like I'd be able to find a Wizard's Depot or whatever anywhere around here. All the typical witch needs were there – a cauldron, a wand, yada yada – but the uniform made me halt. I read over what was required for it and then laughed. "Almost makes me glad I can't go, I'd look really dumb in those 'robes'." The idea of teenagers running around a school in something like what Dumbledore wore yesterday was, truthfully, hilarious. But, like he said, it was normal there so I've got no right to judge. Maybe they'd think my clothes were funny and weird.

Then I realized that I had no idea what to expect from that school, that place. What if this school was just a Satanist meeting of kids in some dude's basement? As you can see, I'm not very trusting.

I sigh then stand up from my bed, folding the papers back into their envelope. I may as well show it to my parents, to see if they know what's what. So much has been on my mind, and ever since yesterday, I've been plagued with so many questions. Right now, as I walked down the hall, I was wondering if my current parents were chosen to take care of me because they're magical too. I've never seen them exhibit any extraordinary powers, but maybe they were better at hiding it since they were older. This thought made me feel less hopeless, since the school of witchcraft in jolly old England was now out of the question. As I near the end of the hall, I'm almost run over by the twins. They were zooming down the hallway, racing their toy fire trucks and making zooming sounds. I see Penny and my other sisters at the stools, eating waffles quietly. I walk around to the other side of the counter and smile at them, only to have the kindness returned with sneers of either dislike or early morning crankiness. I go with the latter and continue my nice parade.

"Good mornin', girlies!" I announce, to which they groan. Penny and twelve-year-old Janine won't meet my eye, and five-year-old Emily just stares at me. I smile sweetly and lean closer toward her. "What's up, Emmy-pop? I like your princess outfit." Emily was very much into playing princess these days. She apparently got a new dress and crown, both purple and pink and sparkly. The crown slid lopsided when she spoke.

"Go away, Stany-bear," the little girl mumbled and my smile fell. She only calls me Stany-bear, a name I hate yet she loves to call me, when she wants to get on my nerves or she's upset with me. I look at my other two sisters to see if they know what's up to find them already staring at me, coldly.

"What?" I exclaim, causing Emily to hop down from the stool and run away.

"Why didn't you say you were leaving?" Janine says, her voice very quiet and edgy. I'm completely confused at this point and when I'm about to ask her what was going on, she just narrows her eyes into slits and cuts me off. "Just leaving us now, 'cause you're too good? 'Cause you're not our real sister?" Then she shoves her plate of barely touched waffled away and storms off.

"Not too dramatic are we?" I ask, sarcastically – nothing gets me more than her need to play up a situation like it was some daytime TV soap opera. I roll my eyes and look to Penny.

"Then there was one. Come on, spit it out, Pen," I persuade, hand under my chin as I lean on the counter. I stare at Penelope as she goes through her 'this is a tough thing to say' routine. Every time she has to tell me something that she doesn't want to say, she straightens her back, clears her throat, pushes her little lavender glasses up on her face with her index finger, sighs heavily, shakes her head, then looks at me for a very long time in that exact order. And she does just this once again.

"There's a man here for you, Tristan. He's been in the den for some time now." I wait for her to say more, but she doesn't. She just looks back down at her waffles, intently.

"So why didn't anyone wake me up?" I ask, straightening back up and getting ready to head into the den, where I'm presuming Mom and Dad plus one are at. Penny just shrugs and answers, "Mom told me to go wake you up, but the man said not to...I think. I couldn't understand him."

I raise an eyebrow and laugh a bit. "What did it sound like he said?"

Penny shrugged, laughing too. Then she tried to sound just like them man when she spoke, "Naw, naw, you don' needa wake 'er up – I can wait here all day if I need tah. I jus' need 'er to be up 'fore the end o' the day. I need 'er letter an' then we be off fer a while." I blinked a bit. I barely understood her, and Penelope Kimball was a spot-on impressionist. While I was temporarily paralyzed, Penny cocked her head and asked in her own voice, "What does he mean your letter? Does he mean the one you're holding?"

I'd forgotten that I'd been holding the envelope at all, and it took me a moment to understand what she meant. Then I shook my head and replied in a distracted tone, "Just tell Jany-dramatic-pants that I didn't know I was leaving either, and I won't be gone for long. I'm just enrolling into a special school." As Penny got up to go run to the bedroom that her and Janine share, I added, "And tell her we may be moving." Because apparently, Hogwarts was a go.

I remained neutral as I stepped into the den, unsure of whether this Hogwarts thing could happen. It was so far away, and seemed very unlikely to me. All of the frantically excited thoughts left my head, though, upon seeing who the man was that came to pick me up. Penny either hadn't seen the man or failed to mention that he was a FREAKING GIANT!

He was the tallest person I've ever seen, head nearly grazing the ceiling. His beard was a wild and tangly mess, and his dark hair was exactly the same. His clothes were a brown (and rather smelly) heap of animal skin, and his leather boots looked old and worn out. I looked up into his face, seeing black eyes glittering down at me with the friendliest smile to match, yet I was unable to smile back. His size was just too intimidating to me, so all I did was gawk up at him, causing him to chuckle a bit.

"Tristan, please-" Mom began to scold, but the giant waved it off. "Ah, no worries! I'm a bit o' a shock when yeh aren' 'spectin' it." I blink a bit and try to stop gaping like a complete neanderthal. I look away for a moment, then look back up to see his eyes still pinned on me. I smile and clear my throat to speak.

"So, I'm Tristan- uh, Kimball. I guess," I announce, lamely. Do I still go by Kimball? Or am I a Potter now? It was Potter, right? I fought the urge to check the letter to see as he extended his hand. I cautiously put my hand in his and he shook mine. It was a warm handshake, and I wasn't completely lifted off my feet or had my hand crushed, guiltily to my surprise.

"I am Rubeus Hagrid," he replied cheerfully, and I smiled in return.

"So, why are you here today, Hagrid?" Since we didn't really have any seats to accommodate his size, he stood, and so I decided that I'd stand too. I put my hands on my hips and straighten my back, trying to get taller. I'd always been short, but this made me feel child-sized.

"Welp, Tristan, I'm here tah get yer Hogwarts letter for yeh. Since yeh don' have a way tah send it yerself."

I smile, widely and genuinely. "Fabulous."

"Well, hold on a moment," I heard my mother's voice say, sounding timid. Me and Hagrid both look at her, expectantly. "What, Ma?" I prod when she doesn't speak. She's sitting at the same couch she sat at yesterday, legs crossed elegantly. Her hands are loosely clasped in her lap, and she's staring at them as she bits her bottom lip. Dad is right by her side, looking at me. His expression is reluctant. _'Oh, dear God, no.'_

"Dear..." my mom begins, eyeing the giant that I'm standing beside. "Do you think that _Hogwarts_ is really the school for you?" The way she said Hogwarts, like it was below me, bothered me. And made it clear that she was saying in the nicest, most discreet way possible that she didn't want me to go. I know also that the only reason she was being discreet about her distaste was because she was in the presence of someone who was a part of the world Hogwarts was in that also happened to be twice her height and four times her width. It's crazy, the things you notice after years and years of being around someone.

"Of course I do, Mom. What school could be better for someone like me?" I said, looking to Hagrid for reassurance. Much to my pleasure, he instantly agreed, "Oh, there be no school in th' _world _fer learnin' how tah use yer magic. Yer daughter will be in perfect hands there, she will." I nodded for emphasis, and figured that'd be that. But no.

"Honey, you're no different than your father and I. You're the same old you." Who was Mom trying to convince, me or herself?

"Yeah, but I can make things happen and you can't. I've got magic blood and you don't."

"So? We moved away so that we wouldn't have do go through this, and now...you actually _want_ this!" my mom exclaimed, rather hysterically. She had tears lining her eyelids, and she was looking at me like I was a stranger. I'd always known that Mom was concerned about propriety and how she was view but everyone, but I didn't know she was...magicist is a word, right?

Well it is now. I look at her with widened eyes, embarrassed by my mother's outburst. But after years and years of holding her feelings in when others could hear, she's finally lost all sense and shame. "Yes, we moved away from the UK. We hoped that if we were an ocean apart from that place, it couldn't follow us!"

"Why though, what's so wrong with it?" I asked, laughing once or twice at the absurdity of her behavior. She lets me find out that I'm adopted and I'm a witch, and that I can go where others like myself are, and then I have it taken away just like that? That makes no sense!

"You _want_ to be a wand-waving, cauldron-boiling, spell-casting broom jockey?" Her voice cracked as she shouted, which I deemed very uncalled for. But honestly, being a 'wand-waving broom jockey' wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"Well...yeah. Maybe not in so many words, but I don't see why not."

"What will the neighbors think?"

"Why would you tell them?" This silenced her quickly. I mean, how _would_ the find out unless they were told? It'd not like I'd prance around, turning people into trees and whatnot. And I'm definitely sure I won't turn green and warty, cackling "Come here, my pretty! And you little dog too!" She was being completely irrational and out of control. Her apparent strive for normality was being obstructed by my abnormal heritage, and that's just something that I can't help.

I look to Hagrid, who had been quiet the whole time. He looked as if he'd heard it all before, and that made me curious. "So..anyway I can attend regardless of parental decisions?" I teased, only partly kidding.

He shrugged. "O' course. I'm not gunna say yes er no though, that' all yer choice there." He looked around the den quickly then back at me, winking. I smile at him, and then look at my mother, who has pursed her lips and looked away from me promptly.

"I'm going to choose what will help me the most. So I'm going to choose to go to Hogwarts. Now Mom, don't look at me like that. It's my decision. And-"

"Tristan Mckenzie, you are only thirteen-"

"Correction, it's my birthday today."

Mom sighs heavily, obviously exasperated by my rebellion. "Whatever, Tristan. The point is that you're still too young to know exactly what you want. We worked so hard over the years. Worked to mold you into a normal, upright American girl and now you're going to throw it away for such strangeness."

"I like the strangeness, Ma. I've always been strange. And Mom, this is bigger than your woes over a perfectly molded life ruined and your struggles to be just like everyone else. This is about who I am, what I am. And who my family is. I want to know my brother." My shoulders sag for emphasis. "Can't you not think of yourself for one second? One teeny second?"

Mom stands up, making an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, then promptly storms out. Dad remains seated, looking embarrassed and unsure of whether to follow his wife or stick with me. My eyes plead with him and he smiles sadly.

"Darling, I am perfectly okay with whatever choice you make. I love you either way." He stands up and walks toward me, giving me a big hug. Now this is how it should've gone in the first place. I feel a tightness in my chest when he lets me go and leaves the den. I turn to the giant and look up, feeling nervous for no reason.

"So...about this Hogwarts thing..." I begin, trailing off. I look at the letter and then ask, baffled, "Where in this world do you get these clothes? And these cauldrons and wands? And...'dragon hide or similar' gloves? And a _broom_?" I look up at Hagrid's smiling face, in disbelief then breathe quietly, "I want a broom!"

Then he laughed, as thought me saying this brought up a funny memory or an inside joke I wouldn't understand. "Oh, I thought yeh'd say sumthin like that." And from the look on his face, I could tell that he didn't think that was a bad thing at all.

The letter that stated that I was now a student at Hogwarts, Hagrid now kept in one of his coat pockets. He told me he'd deliver it as soon as we bought all of my new school supplies, and though I was plagued with questions, I managed to save them for once I was dressed and ready to leave. The act of getting dressed though, was a difficult one. What to wear when you're going to a wizard store to buy wizard things? I had nothing that wouldn't make me stand out, if normal clothes weren't the norm. So I chose something unremarkable enough; a plain gray polo shirt and light khaki capris with gray low-rise sneakers. I brushed my hair out as quickly as possible and slung it into a ponytail that I instantly hated but didn't take down. I didn't have time for styling and primping, and I didn't know what others would think if they saw me how I normally dress for school or for a shopping excursion. I favored my rather long hair in tendril curls, even though it took forever to do; some days it took me two hours to get my hair to cooperate with me. And during summer and fall, I was usually seen sporting shorts that were too short and t-shirts that were too tight. I don't intentionally try to show off my body though, as a lot of people think; it's just too hot, and I hate both heat and sweating. The way I see it, the more skin I show, the less sweat-clung cloth there will be making me feel sticky and gross all day. But I'm not going to be seen as an American, ahem, _lady of the evening_ by my soon-to-be peers and elders. I don't live for peoples' opinions of me, but first impressions do count.

This outfit was the best balance of coolness and modesty that I could get without looking like a complete weirdo as well, so this would have to do. I'm about to leave my room when I think of my purse and wallet. It was weird, not taking them with me when I'm about to go shopping, but what good would it do me? I've got no money, regardless of whether it would be accepted currency or not. I walk back to the den, not passing anyone on my way this time. In fact, the house is eerily quiet now, making me quicken my pace until I'm back in the room with Hagrid, feeling very silly. He says something but not saying it directly to me, so I don't catch it.

I look up and ask finally, "Where are we getting this stuff?"

"Diagon Alley. It's in London," he replies, now feeling around in his pockets for something. I cock my eyebrow. In London, huh.

"London. And how exactly do we get there?" My voice is challenging a bit, and I bite my lip. I need to learn my manners again, obviously. Hagrid doesn't reply for a few moments, feeling around in a plethora of pockets in his gigantic coat until he finds what he'd been looking for, his face lighting up with awaited discovery.

"Exactly how I got in here," he answered quietly, sounding mysterious. He pulls out something and hands it to me. Once I take it, he places a hand on my shoulder, my knees buckling under the weight. It was a crumpled up piece of that strange paper that read in Dumbledore's handwriting two little words. I looked it over then read loudly and clearly: "Diagon Alley, London".

Suddenly, I felt as though I was within a tornado. Wind whipped around me, but my hair didn't move. Neither did Hagrid's. He looked completely at ease with the whirlwind, while I was completely terrified by it. "What is going on?" I scream over the whipping sound of the twister, but he only yells back, "Don' worry, we'll be there soon 'nough." I couldn't see anything but blurred colors if I tried to look less than a foot past my face. The noise was filling my ears and making them ring, and I was becoming dizzy from the swirling air around me. And I don't exactly know when I felt the floor beneath my feet disappear.

But I sure know when it came back. The ground came up before I expected it to, and I fell to the ground, landing on my back. The tornado was over, and I was in a whole other world that was apparently named Diagon Alley.

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**Thank you for reading, darlings (: Review please! It makes me happy (:**  
**- love, brooke**


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